The Wolf and The Fellowship
by Penlym
Summary: Tarlen Golden-eye is a shapeshifter and she has been summoned to the council of Elrond to represent her people. Her inner wolf is fighting for control, affected by the power of the ring. How will she keep her control with it within her grasp? EDITING. EomerOC
1. Rivendell

As much as I wish I did, I do not own any of Tolkien's works, I only own Tarlen. Edited (04/08/14)

...

Tarlen Golden-eye looked around in wonder as she passed over the bridge, the round arches of Rivendell standing in high splendour. Cliff faces rose on either side of the valley, making it almost invisible for the naked eye to see from a distance. Streams trickled down the steep slopes, twining themselves into one great river that ran its course through the middle of the vale and then directly under the stone bridge Tarlen stood on. Trees, grassland and bushes coated the sides of the valley in a rich green that balanced out the grey of the cliff faces.

As soon as she had crossed the boundary into Rivendell, Tarlen had shifted from her wolf form back to her natural human shape, readjusting her pack to fit her slender figure, and as she heightened her senses, the smell of elf and herbs had almost over powered her, along with many other, fainter scents such as fear, especially around on the far side of the River Branuin. But the scent that had been more powerful than all the others was a great evil.

It is hard to describe what evil feels like, and so I will not try to describe it, but what Tarlen smelled now was akin to something sour and repellent, something best left well alone. She could smell the Nazgûl and another, far stronger and foreign scent that raised her wariness to even greater heights of Rivendell, a scent that forebode great dangers and dark promises.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Tarlen strode onward past various elves that either nodded to her in greeting, or ignored her completely. They could sense the strange blood in her, and thus treated her with wariness.

She strode through the last archway and into a great courtyard, where many elves were gathered, talking, walking in leisure along the many pathways, or hurrying on errands of urgency. The beauty of everything, both of elvish faces and elvish architecture, was astonishing. She gazed around her with awe until she realised she was standing in the middle of the courtyard, and she didn't know where to go.

"Mae govannen," a voice behind Tarlen spoke. It was an elf. Tall and slender, with long brown hair and kind blue eyes, the elleth held her head high and proud, her grace and beauty standing out even in this place.

The elleth bowed slightly and touched her brow, and I repeated her actions, murmuring my own, "Mae govannen."

"I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell. Pray, what is your name? May I ask what your business is, here in Rivendell?

"I am Tarlen Golden-eye, a daughter of Bairn - you won't have heard of him. I have been summoned to Elrond's council. I am not too late?"

Arwen's eyes lighted with a sudden understanding and she shook her head. "Nay, you are not. It is being held tomorrow morn. Come with me, and I will show you your room."

Tarlen thanked her, eying her suspiciously and wondering just how much the daughter of Elrond knew about her. The wolf kept glancing around, taking note of her surroundings. The halls of Rivendell were like a maze, criss-crossing here and there, but Tarlen counted her steps to her room, counting the number of turns and junctions, keeping an eye out for the elves who seemed to wander serenely through the halls, impervious to the impending doom hanging over Middle Earth.

She slept and bathed that night, deciding to miss the evening meal. She had traveled many leagues, and her weary eyes could not stay open.

Xxx

The next morning, Tarlen arrived early at the council room, wanting to show the Lord Elrond that she really was a good person after so rudely missing dinner last night. She knew what her mother would say; something along the lines of, "How could you? These are _elves_, Tarlen. They don't forget." Tarlen smiled, shaking her head. She missed her mother already.

"I was worried you wouldn't come."

Tarlen spun around to see an old man clothed in grey with his long beard tucked into his belt, leaning on his staff.

"Gandalf!" She cried, leaping forward to embrace her friend in a warm hug. "How long has it been? Ten years? You haven't changed a bit, old man!"

"Oh, the insolence of people these days," Gandalf sniffed, the traces of a smile quivering his lips.

"And of course you knew one of us would come. You just wasn't sure which! Since you left, Father was crippled in an orc attack, and my brothers have been sent to war. With Mother looking after Father, I am the only one left - you know we couldn't send one of the clan."

Suddenly he turned serious. "No, you never know who you can trust anymore. I am very sorry about your father. It _has_ been too long. Tell me, Golden-eye, do you know the reason for this council?"

Tarlen paused, studying the carved stone beneath her feet. "There have been whispers of a shadow in the East...some even claim that the ring of power has been found. I have not wanted to believe them, although the sources were trustworthy. Is it true, Gandalf?"

"Yes," the wizard sighed heavily. "It is true."

"Then we must prepare ourselves for the coming storm, and do what we must with the ring."

"That is what we have come to discuss."

By now the room was filled with people, and for the first time, Tarlin noticed a small boy standing a little behind Gandalf. "And who is this?" She smiled and crouched to his level.

"This is Frodo Baggins from the Shire. A hobbit…and the bearer of the ring. Frodo, this is Tarlen Gold-eye, a…stranger to these lands."

Tarlen could feel her eyes widen as she studied the creature before her. Curly brown hair and blue eyes gazed back at her, and she could see that he was no boy at all, more like a small man, with pointy ears and large, hairy feet. She stood, blushing as she realised how patronisingly she had just treated him.

Tarlen had to stop herself from staring. The bearer of the ring! Before she had heard of the rumours that the ring had been found, but had not believed them. The likelihood of it being found after over a thousand years was just so unlikely, yet here the evidence stood right before her eyes. Was it a sign? A sign of the doom of elves and men? Or was it a signal? A signal of the coming of the prophecies that would come true? Whatever it was, it was a sign of change.

"I am honoured to meet such a strong hobbit; for strong you must be, since you have carried the ring thus far."

Tarlen noticed the hobbit had been staring curiously at her. _With good reason,_ Tarlen thought. _What a strange sight I must be!_ For Tarlen knew that seeing a woman dressed like a man, in breeches, a shirt, a cloak and knee high boots, must have been a first for him. Women were not accepted like men were in common society, she knew, but in her culture, women were accepted as equals. And why shouldn't they be? If they could fight as well as a man and think as well as a man, along with the rest of the things a woman is expected to do, then why shouldn't they be?

Yet Tarlen knew the most odd quality of her appearance were her eyes. Being a golden-amber colour, she knew no person here would have seen the like, and her raven hair clashed with them, making them all the more apparent. She suddenly began to feel self-conscious as she noticed the many curious glances that were sent her way. No one knew her and, thanks to the secretive nature of her people, no one knew of her race, or what her eyes signified. For her people knew another of their race by their eyes, yet to others they were just an exotic feature.

"Hello...Tarlen, and thank you. It has been a long journey from the Shire, and I miss it terribly. You should meet Merry and Pippin. I'm sure they're already making mischief for the elves, and Sam is just happy to be at Rivendell. It has always been his dream—to see elves, I mean."

Tarlen laughed. "I admit my feelings to be the same as Sam's. I have never seen an elf up close until now." Then she leaned forward with a wink and whispered in his ear, "But we'd better stop talking like this, otherwise the elves will get cocky."

They shared a grin before, as if by an unspoken signal, everyone began to take their seats. Frodo's grin vanished, and he stared grimly at the ground after he sat down, fingering something around his neck.

...

I hope you enjoy this, please read and review! Constructive criticism very welcome.


	2. The Council of Elrond

Much as I wish I did, I don't own any of Tolkien's works, I only own Tarlen.

...

Elrond stepped onto the dais and held his hand up for silence. Gathered around in a semi-circle, Tarlen could see Elves, Men, Dwarves and, of course, Hobbit. But the smell of hobbit was a little too strong for there to be just one, and Tarlen glanced around frowning. Her nose was never wrong.

"Strangers from distant lands ... friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite - or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom..." As all Elves are, Elrond was beautiful, with brown hair similar to Arwen's and wearing robes of red and purple. His voice was deep and melodic, soothing even in such a serious council. "Bring forth the ring, Frodo."

At the sight of the ring, Tarlen gasped. So he really did have it…Any remaining doubts were washed from her mind. The ring was breathtakingly simple, and so purely gold Tarlen had to grip the arms of her chair as a desire to touch it, just to touch it, took hold of her and was stronger than any drug. The wolf in her stared at the ring as a dog to a bone. She forced her eyes closed, wincing at the effort.

As she slowly got used to the presence of the ring, Tarlen's inner battle slowly eased, and she let out a whoosh of breath as she opened her eyes and let her hands relax. Gandalf was watching her with concern, and she merely shook her head. _It's fine._

At that moment, Tarlen became aware of a man in a black leather jerkin and red shirt talking, "…long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay...by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy...let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it. None of us can. The one ring answers to Sauron alone...it has no other master," another man argued. Tarlen couldn't help but nod in agreement. If the ring could make her wolf react to it at just a glance, what more could it do?

"And what does a ranger know of this matter?"

An elf with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes jumped up. "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Tarlen glanced back to the man with renewed interest, Aragorn. He was tall, with brown hair and wise blue eyes. He bore himself nobly and held his head high, and she couldn't help but notice that he was dressed in elven garb. The heir of Gondor...

Tarlen waited impatiently as the Gondorian, Aragorn and the elf argued over Aragorn's right to the throne. This was hardly the time.

"You have only one choice…the ring must be destroyed," Elrond continued, looking around the room and meeting the eyes of everyone there.

"Then what are we waiting for?" A gravelly voice demanded, and a dwarf leapt forth, swinging his axe down on the ring. With a crack, the axe splintered, sending the dwarf flying, and he looked in disbelief at the unharmed ring. A sudden prick pierced her skin, and Tarlen glanced down to see a splinter in her hand. She pulled it out, flicking it away negligibly. The skin healed instantly.

"The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom...only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

The ensuing argument was long and drawn out. The ring needed to be taken to Mordor, and they just had to think of a way to get it there. She growled in annoyance at their bickering, earning her a few frowned glances. She sat in her seat with her head in her hands, despairingly.

When Frodo announced that he would take the ring to Mordor, Tarlen could feel her heart swell with pride. These hobbits really were sturdy creatures! And yet nobody heard him because everyone was too busy arguing.

"Silence!" Tarlen barked, and everyone calmed down to stare at her in disbelief to hear Frodo say for the second time, "I will take the ring to Mordor, though I do not know the way."

An odd look of relief filled his face as Gandalf said, "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is your to bear."

"If, by my life or death, I can protect you, I will," Aragorn knelt before Frodo. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow." The elf, Legolas, stepped forth.

"And my axe," the dwarf whose axe was shattered announced. He looked excited, as if the idea of taking a dangerous ring across thousands and thousands of leagues of rocks, hills and mountains, being pursued by Orcs, Goblins and Uruk-hai, even Nazgùl, and with the distinct possibility of death, was a thing to look forward to. Tarlen shook her head with grim amusement.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," the Gondorian began. "If this is the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

Watching the representatives from each race pledge their allegiance to Frodo, unite in the cause under his name, she thought of the orcs marching, untamed through the wilds, a very real threat to the lives of all. She thought of the families that would be torn apart, the deaths of men, women and children, the homes that could and would be lost. Sh thought of her clan, forced to hide in order to stay safe. Their small numbers would be defenseless against the minions of Sauron. "A long journey lies ahead of us." Tarlen got up and knelt in front of the hobbit. "But your heart is pure, your will, good. I will run with you, Frodo, and guard you with all that I can."

She glanced around at faces full of disbelief, a few sceptical. She smiled to herself as she went to stand behind Frodo. She would prove that women have more talents than just sitting at home and sewing. Women were just as strong as men.

Suddenly a voice said, "Here!" Another hobbit, with sandy coloured hair and plump cheeks, jumped up from behind a bush. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me."

"No, indeed...it is hardly possible to separate you...even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," Elrond commented dryly.

"Oi! We're coming too! You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us." Two other hobbits jumped out from behind pillars, and Tarlen laughed. She knew there were more of them!

"Anyway...you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission...quest...thing," one of them boasted.

"Well, that rules you out, Pip," the other said.

"Ten companions," Elrond said thoughtfully. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

"Great," Pippin said. "Where are we going?"

Xxx

It was then that Tarlen finally found out the names of the rest of the fellowship, but from thereon she was often ignored when preparing for the journey. What would a woman know of these matters anyway?

Tarlen didn't care; it would only make their surprise so much sweeter later on. She helped the hobbits pack, having already brought the few things she needed, helping them decide what they did and didn't need.

Gandalf tried to include her, as did Aragorn and Legolas, both of whom she had grown to respect, but Gimli and Boromir let their distrust show, and Tarlen gave up in the end. They could get themselves ready, and if they forgot something, it wasn't her fault.

Tarlen spent much of her time talking with the hobbits and Gandalf, and made it her job to find out as much about Aragorn and Legolas as possible. She left Boromir and Gimli alone—they would come round in the end. As the only woman in the fellowship, she felt like she represented all of womanhood, and wanted to make a good impression. She would also spend long evenings with Arwen and Elrond, telling them of her clan and culture. Very few of knew her race, among them Gandalf, Arwen and Elrond, and for the moment she wanted it to stay that way. They only knew because Gandalf had seen one of the children of her clan practicing shape shifting, and so he had immediately sought answers.

And so this was how, two months later, the fellowship was ready.

...

I'm sorry this is going slowly, it will pick up, I promise! I hope you enjoyed what new aspects there are of this, and please read and review! I will do my best to answer any questions. (04/08/14) Edited.


	3. To the Misty Mountains

As much as I wish I did, I do not own any of Tolkien's works. I only own Talren.

xxx

As all first days go, these were the hardest. To leave a place of warmth and safety, only to venture on a quest of danger and uncertainty, amid mundane things such as bad weather and rough terrain, took a strong will. Their pace, whilst determined, was hard, although Tarlen knew it wouldn't be long until it became second nature to them all.

Gandalf led the way, with Boromir, Gimli and Legolas close behind, whilst Aragorn, the hobbits and Tarlen stayed at the back.

They were passing through the wind-beaten lands between Rivendell and the Misty Mountains, when Sam said, "Look, Mr. Frodo!" He pointed towards a small slope ahead. "Doesn't that look like the top of Bag End? Gaffer's probably having to look the garden whilst I'm gone. He'll have a thing or two to say to me when we get back from this darn quest."

Frodo laughed. "Oh, Sam. I'm sure it looks like a lot of homes from the Shire." He paused. "I do miss the Shire, and the quest has only just started! I'm sure I'll even be prepared to say 'I miss the Sackville-Bagginses' by the time we get back home."

"What's the Shire like? I've only ever heard what Gandalf has told me, which as you can imagine is very little," Tarlen asked.

"Imagine a country," began Aragorn, "that is completely oblivious to the evils of this world, one that is content to run its own course, and as long as life's quiet and peaceful, its occupants are happy."

"Oh, and don't forget the parties!" Pippin added. "Mr. Bilbo had a huge one before he left for Rivendell. More than half the Shire was invited."

"And everyone else besides," Merry joined in.

"There was more than parties," Same protested. "There was great beauty, too, in the flowers, and the trees, and the rivers…"

"And Rosie Cotton!" Frodo replied, winking.

"Eh!"

Tarlen laughed. "I should love to visit someday." She paused thinking, a grin on her face. "Maybe I could meet this Rosie Cotton..."

Pippin snorted. "Maybe you could get Sam to finally ask her out."

"And we shall give you the best tour of the Shire you have ever seen," Merry announced, then he grinned. "In fact, Frodo, we should hold a party in your honour: 'The Bearer of the Ring Returns'. Then you'll get the best tour you could ever get of the Shire, Tarlen."

She smiled slightly, a sad expression covering her face. "Much as I would love to once - if - the ring is destroyed, I too want to go home. I too miss my people. Thankfully they are safe, for the moment."

"How do you know?" Legolas asked curiously, having listened to most of the conversation.

"I know in here," I pointed to my head, "And I hope. Everyone is trained to fight. Men, women, children. If the need arises, to protect clan and people is a great honour to my race, as it is for most. The need to protect, to survive—it's in our blood."

"You call you and your people a 'race', as if you aren't human...?" Aragorn pressed. "You look like a human, you act like a human. You carry only a knife and a bow and arrows, yet you hint at far greater weapons than what I see before me."

Gandalf still led the way, followed by Gimli and Boromir, and then by Aragorn, Tarlen, Legolas and the hobbits, yet Tarlen could see by the stiff way they were standing, tilting their heads to the side slightly to hear better, that they were listening. Only Gandalf showed no sign of change, although she was sure he could hear every word she said.

She was silent for a moment as she considered her next words. "There are two parts of me. One part is the human, the other is the creature. Two warring personalities that all the time I have to keep under control. When I want to be the human, I am the human; when I want to be the animal, I am the animal. But sometimes it is not my choice, and strong emptions, such as fear, can turn me into an animal, where I feel safer, as I can protect myself better. Other things, such as a strong power," she glanced at Frodo, "can also make me want to become one with the animal. That is all I wish to say for now. It makes me uncomfortable to talk about this. Such a long kept secret is a hard thing to talk about."

"Are all your people like this?" Merry asked.

"Yes, but we change into different animals, with a strict hierarchy. The stronger the animal is that you turn into, the higher up the hierarchy you are. My father leads us because he is - was - the strongest. Since his accident, it has been left to us, my family, to ensure our line remains in power. He sent me, because, as his kin, I am also among the strongest."

"We shall stop here," Gandalf called out. Rocks covered most of the ground, interrupted now and again by greenery. In the distance, the Misty Mountains rose in spikes up into the sky, a shock of white against the grey.

We sat and ate food cooked by Sam. It was simple, but delicious and bursting with flavour. "Sam, if this is food cooked on-the-go, then the food at home must be divine! This is amazing!" Tarlen squinted at him, "Are you sure you're a gardner?"

Sam ducked his head, but not before she saw a blush creeping on his rosy cheeks. "Cooking is just a pass-time for me, Miss Tarlen, but when you come to the Shire, you should come to the Green Dragon. Best food for miles around, and the best ale, too."

Tarlen smiled and lay back, happy to rest while she had the chance. It wasn't long though before Boromir started teaching Merry and Pippin how to fight, with Aragorn interjecting with advice every now and then.

Leaning back, Tarlen lether eyes close, and let the sounds and smells and feel of nature seep into her mind. A few metres away she could hear a robin scuffling in the ground, searching for the worms that shifted through the soil beneath them; all around her was the smell of hibernating animals, and the chill wind lapped at her fingers as they rested across her stomach.

Tarlen woke up without even remembering falling asleep. She couldn't have been out long though, as Merry and Pippin were tackling Boromir to the ground. Then she found out what had awoken her. The wind had changed, sending the smell of rot and decay that was only detectable through her wolfish senses.

"What is that?" Sam asked, pointing to a black point in the sky.

"Nothing…it's just a wisp of cloud," Gimli answered, reporting all his poor dwarven eyes could see.

Boromir frowned. "It's moving fast…against the wind."

"Something's out there, Gandalf. It doesn't smell right," Tarlen called out, getting up into a crouched position as she eyed the offending 'cloud'. Her hand balanced herself against the ground and she stood tense, ready to dart for cover. She breathed deeply, trying to make out more from the scent, but it was upwind from her.

Legolas' eyes widened. "Crebain from Dunland!"

"Hide!"

Everyone scrambled for cover, grabbing crockery and putting out the fire as they went. Tarlen found herself hiding under a rock with Gimli and Legolas. The flapping of many wings overhead could be heard, along with cawing and a foul stench. Tarlen dared not breathe. She kept hearing crows coming within feet away of their hide out, their harsh cries hurting her ears.

The noise died down a moment, and Gimli began to venture out. Tarlen reached out to stop him. "Wait," she mouthed.

The crows came back. Then a squawk, louder than the rest, sounded, and the flapping wings drifted away, until Tarlen could hear them no more.

They waited with bated breath for any sign of more of the birds. Tarlen could not hear or smell them, and so she ventured out, followed by Legolas and Gimli. The others soon followed suit.

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf said, worriedly. "The passage South is being watched." Then he turned and gestured to the mountains. "We must take the pass of Caradharas!"

Xxx

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm trying to add in a few different things to the scenes from the film, and of course a few elements in this are book-verse as well, so I hope you don't get too tired of reading the same bits! All reviews are very welcome, and any advice is even better. (04/08/14) Edited.


	4. Decisions

The glistening snow underfoot was crisp and clean, glittering under the cold sun's gaze. Mountains reared up on either side, blotting out the view of distant green far below. Tarlen looked around in wonder. It was so beautiful. It was cold and deadly—just a small shout could bring an avalanche roaring upon them—yet beautiful. She almost didn't want to walk in the clean, smooth snow, only to have her boots mess it up and dirty it. She was at the back walking, walking behind Aragorn, who was looking out for Frodo.

On hearing a muffled cry, Tarlen glanced up. Frodo lay sprawled in the snow, and she had to stifle a giggle, until she saw him get up and realize the ring was no longer around his neck. Then Boromir picked up the ring by its chain, bringing it up to eye level.

Tarlen jumped. Like a shock, the wolf was clawing for dominance, snarling and biting, and she almost whimpered from the sudden onslaught. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her palm over them as if it would make the ring go away. Destroy over three thousand years' worth of power and malice. But then life was never so easy.

"Boromir," Aragorn quietly commanded for attention, completely oblivious to Tarlen's inner struggle.

"It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt…over so small a thing. Such a little thing…" Boromir murmured. His hand slowly inched its way towards the ring, his gaze fixed on it.

"Boromir!" He glanced up, torn from his trance. "Give the ring to Frodo," Aragorn continued.

Tarlen could hear the sound of crunching footsteps as Boromir came closer…along with the ring. She felt short of breath, and each one was harder to take.

"As you wish," Boromir said, letting Frodo snatch the ring from his hand. "I care not."

It was as if the whole world had been holding its breath for something to happen and it all came whooshing out in a short gust of wind. Tarlen gasped as Frodo placed the ring back around his neck, and the wolf slowly died down, but not without a warning growl. It did not want this to happen. It did not want the ring, but something about it was so alluring that the wolf was unable to resist.

_Watch me_, it whispered to her.

Tarlen removed her hand from her eyes to see Boromir ruffle Frodo's hair, and then Aragorn remove his hand from his sword, then he glanced at her, concern written in his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Aragorn, I need to hunt. I haven't shifted since before I arrived at Rivendell, and the other half of me—the creature I mentioned before—it is growing restless. It needs to be released."

"I'm sorry, Tarlen," Aragorn shook his head, "but I cannot allow that. Who knows what hides in the shadows of these mountains? If one of us ran off and didn't come back, the fellowship would be forced to move on, whether the deserter was alive or dead. Can't you shift here with us?"

Tarlen sighed in exasperation and lowered her voice. "The ring is drawing the creature. If I shifted now, it could take complete control of my body and almost nothing would be able to stop me."

At Aragorn's look of disbelief, Tarlen pressed, "_Please_, Aragorn."

"_No_. I'm sorry, Tarlen, but I cannot afford any danger to come to the rest of the fellowship. Ask Gandalf if you must, though I doubt his answer would be any different. Can you wait until we get to the other side of the mountains?"

"Well, I guess I'll have to, won't I?" Tarlen scowled, "But don't blame me if I'm twitchy."

Aragorn laughed. "Twitchy? Are you serious? Tarlen Golden-eye, kindest of all beings, can be twitchy?"

He was only teasing her, but Tarlen could help but feel annoyed. "Urgh! You could never understand." Then she stomped ahead of him to walk with Gandalf and Legolas at the head of the group.

Xxx

As the days and weeks had gone by, Boromir had tried to partake in conversation with Tarlen, but it was as if he completely over looked the reason she was actually with them, in the fellowship, and he tried to talk to her of things he _expected_ a woman to do, even if it bored him senseless. She knew it did her. In the end, she couldn't take it, instead choosing to ignore him. She couldn't help but feel guilty, but why did he talk about things neither of them was interested in? She was strong and didn't faint at the sight of blood. She didn't feel horrified if she saw someone kill something—as long as it was for the greater good. Gimli, on the other hand, didn't try to talk to her, and was as coldly courteous as ever. But Tarlen saw that inside they were good people through acts, though not directed at her, that made her proud to be in their fellowship, and she knew their prowess in fighting was rumoured to be phenomenal, and she for a day when she could see them.

The two warriors were currently busy with their own problems, though, as the wind beat at them and howled in their ears. The hobbits, short as they were, could not wade through the mass of snow swirling around them like a whirlwind, and so Aragorn and Boromir carried them, one in each arm. Gimli was behind them, following in their path, with Tarlen and Legolas at the back, and Gandalf at the front. Being at the head of the line, Gandalf took the full brunt of the storm. He waded through the snow, using his staff to carve a path.

Legolas walked beside Tarlen, easily managing his weight above the snow.

"Show off!" Tarlen yelled over the wind in an attempt to lighten the dark mood of the company. Legolas grinned and was about to reply when his head whipped round to the front. Running forward he stood at the edge of the cliff in front of Gandalf. "There is a fell voice on the air!"

"It's Saruman!"

With an almighty crack, rocks dropped down on them, and they shoved themselves against the sheer rock walls, narrowly missing being squashed under rock rubble.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled, "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf stood out from the cliff face, raising his hands to the sky as he chanted a counter command to try and calm Caradharas, but he was drowned out by the other voice as it redoubled its efforts.

Suddenly, Tarlen distantly heard the shifting of snow and she grabbed the closest person to her, shoving them beneath her, just as an avalanche of snow came down upon them.

Despite snow being white, it is actually very dark when you are surrounded by the stuff, unable to see or breathe and squashed against another body. Tarlen scrambled upwards, beginning to feel claustrophobic. With a last push, her head broke out of the floor of snow, and she reached down to help the other person out and he came up with a roar of frustration. The fellowship was up to their necks in snow—literally—as they forced their way out of the snow.

"We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!" Boromir said.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn protested.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria," Gimli stated beside Tarlen.

Gandalf was silent for a moment and the silence was pregnant with unsaid things. What could be so bad about a mine? Tarlen wondered. There would be warmth, protection from the snow and, from what Gimli said, food and dwarves, too.

"Let the ring-bearer decide," Gandalf said grimly.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir shouted. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

"Frodo?" Gandalf inquired.

"We will go through the mines."

"So be it."


	5. Buried Memories

As much as I wish I did, **I do not own any of Tolkien's works**, I only own Tarlen.

When the decision was made to go to the mines of Moria, Tarlen couldn't help but feel curious. Gimli kept on talking about it, as if it was heaven itself. Yet, Aragorn and Gandalf seemed to think of it as a place of great danger and peril. What place could cause such conflicting opinions?

It reminded her of a place many of her people had ventured, thinking that, as they could survive most wounds that would kill a mortal man instantly, they could survive that. It was the Dimholt Road in Rohan, a place of fear and legend. _Thank the Gods my path won't lead me on that road,_ Tarlen thought. Never did anyone of them come back, yet still more went in: the young seeking riches and glory, the elderly seeking one last adventure; all drunk with the idea that they were invincible. But no, a shifter can only be killed by a mortal wound by a blade forged in silver, or to have their head cut clean off…and then burned. The process of regeneration was a tiresome one, and the wounded would eat twice as much than usual, but they would regenerate quickly, with no sign of a scar, except for the very worst of injuries.

The fellowship reached Moria in a few days, picking their way through endless rocks. Bare walls of rock surrounded them, dark and brooding in their slumber. The stones were green and greasy and it was easy to lose their footing, and more than once Tarlen almost fell.

"Steady, lass," Gimli would caution, whilst checking to see she hadn't scratched herself, his bushy red brows frowning in concern. Then he would gently hurry her along, as if she was some precious stone, muttering and staring venomously at what had tripped her. When asked about it he would say, "Well, someone's got to look after you, girl," then he would turn around and mumble, "especially after ruining my pride." It had probably slighted his 'pride', to have a lady save his life. _Or maybe that's just an excuse_, Tarlen thought with a small smile. _Maybe I'm growing on him._

Ever since Tarlen had protected him from the avalanche, Gimli, son of Gloin began clucking about her like a mother hen; helping her up when she fell (if he hadn't caught her beforehand), or pointing out a rock or stone that she would have tripped over if he did not.

She paused for a moment to get her bearings, leaning her hand on the wall as she absentmindedly brushed back wisps of ebony hair that escaped her tightly braided plait. Ahead of her, Gandalf and Frodo were talking in quick and hurried whispers. Tarlen frowned. She hoped Frodo was alright. She felt the powerful pull of the ring and she didn't even have to bear it.

Suddenly Gimli exclaimed in awe, "The walls…of Moria!"

Tarlen raised her eyebrows. _Looks like an ordinary flat wall to me_, she thought. "So, where's the door?"

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli replied, tapping his axe against the rock, and the fellowship quickly followed suit.

"Yes, Gimli," Gandalf said. "Their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas retorted, and Tarlen had to stifle a snigger.

She heard a splash, and she looked up to see Frodo pull his foot out of some water. Behind them was a great lake, flat and smooth and black with gnarled branches wreathed in moss hanging above it.

Gandalf approached a part of the wall between two trees, brushing his hand over it and murmuring something to himself. Suddenly the wall flared with silver light.

"It mirrors only starlight," Gandalf glanced up to the sky to see a moon appear from behind the clouds. "And moonlight."

Strange words were skilfully written in an arch at the top and under the ministrations of both starlight and moon, the lines brightened. The silver lines outlined a door formed of two columns beneath an arch with a star in the centre.

"It reads 'The Doors of Durin - Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter,'" Gandalf informed them.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked.

"Oh. It's quite simple. If you are a friend, you will speak the password and the doors will open."

Gandalf set his staff's end on the shining star and chanted words of elvish that Tarlen couldn't understand. Nothing happened. He tried again with his hands raised and recited other words.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin stated. Gandalf glanced at him, irritated, but otherwise ignored him, instead trying to push on the doors, but they remained closed.

"What are you going to do, then?" Pippin piped up. A sigh whooshed out from between Tarlen's clenched teeth. Pippin was lovely—really—but he never knew when to just keep his mouth shut.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words," Gandalf said, angrily.

Pippin grew quiet at that, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, Tarlen said, grinning, "Peregrin? That's your name?"

"Yes," Pippin said glumly. She frowned, perplexed, and tried again.

"You know there is a type of bird called a Peregrine Falcon, and they are meant to be the fastest animals in the world, and I've heard that they have very good eyesight, too. In fact, I had a friend who shifts into a Falcon, and she told me all about them."

"Had?" Pippin asked, gently. "What happened to her?"

"She died," Tarlen said simply.

"How?" Pippin moved to stand by the shore of the lake.

"She was killed. By an orc."

"What was she like?"

Tarlen smiled slightly as she saw a picture of her friend in her mind's eye. "She was beautiful. She had chestnut hair and bright, green eyes. She was small and light and, of course, incredibly fast. She could dive faster and farther than any normal bird and her feathers were softer than silk. As children we would race through nearby fields. Me as a wolf; she as a bird. She would always win, but then you can move faster through the sky." Tarlen whispered the very last part, as if remembering some fond argument. She was silent for a moment, her eyes clouded with the fog of memory. She could hear her friend's beautiful, tinkling laughter; her cry of exhilaration when diving at highly dangerous speeds and altitudes. Tarlen could remember her friend always saying thank you whenever they made a kill, as if there was a god that cared. But how could that be when they let so much bad happen?

Tarlen jumped when she felt a hand on her arm.

"She was your sister, wasn't she?" Pippin said.

"Yes," she replied thickly, blinking hard.

"She'll be watching you from up there, you know," Pippin said, pointing upward. "Keeping you safe from harm." He patted Tarlen's arm left her and she couldn't be more grateful to him. The dear, sweet hobbit. She needed time alone to bury this silly grief. Sarlah, her sister, wouldn't have wanted for Tarlen to grieve her death for too long. She would have wanted the wolf to move on.

When Tarlen turned around a few moments later, she heard a stone plop into the water and assumed it was Merry. Pippin followed suit, but Aragorn stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Do not disturb the water."

Tarlen stood beside Boromir, watching as a ripple continued to run through the water.

"Oh, it's useless," Gandalf cried, exasperated. He sat down beside Frodo, pulling off his hat.

Tarlen frowned. The ripple should have smoothed out ages ago. She slowly pulled out her knives with a hiss. Suddenly she heard a crack and a rumble. She jumped around, ready to face any attacker, but instead saw a crack, invisible before, begin to widen as the doors of Moria swung open. Inside it was black, and she doubted even Legolas' eyes could pick anything out from the darkness.

As the fellowship entered, Gandalf placed a rough-hewn crystal into the gnarled roots topping his staff as Tarlen sheathed her knives. She went in just before Aragorn, who took up the rear. Moonlight filtered through the open doors, but did little to pierce the darkness.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin," Gimli began. A light began to glow dimly ahead of them, and Tarlen saw it came from the globe in Gandalf's staff. Glancing around, she saw rocks both sharp and smooth littering the floor, leading up to some steps. Surely the dwarves would have cleared away all this rubble?

"And they call it a mine," the dwarf continued. "A mine!"

The light fell on rocks that looked an awful lot like corpses and weapons. Tarlen glanced around. A great battle was held hear, not long ago…

"This is no mine, it's a tomb!" Boromir declared.

Legolas was examining an arrow, drawn from a nearby dwarf's body, and he threw it away in disgust. "Goblins!"

In seconds Tarlen's knives were in her hands, and by the resounding hisses echoing throughout the corrider, others had drawn their weapons, too.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here!" Boromir said. "Now get out of here, get out!"

"Frodo!"

Turning round, Tarlen saw Frodo being dragged towards the water.

"Get off him!" Sam hacked at a tentacle. "Strider!"

"Aragorn!"

The creature in the water released him, drawing back into the water. Suddenly hundreds more tentacles crashed out of the water, slapping the other hobbits away and grabbing Frodo to hang him in the air.

"Frodo!" Merry called. Legolas shot at the tentacle and it dropped Frodo. Another one caught him.

"Strider!" Frodo cried.

As if someone clicked their fingers, Tarlen jumped into action. She raced forward and sliced at one of the creature's tentacles with her knives, spun, and hacked into another.

"Tarlen!" Gandalf called, beckoning her. She glanced around; Boromir had Frodo in his arms. Gandalf continued, "Into the mines!"

"Legolas!" Boromir shouted. Legolas took aim.

"Into the caves!" Aragorn said. Releasing his arrow, Legolas watched as it buried itself in the beast's eye. It roared.

"Run!"

Tarlen span and raced into the mines, and behind her she heard and felt a great rumbling and as she turned her head to look, she saw the doors crashing down to block the entrance. She gasped for breath, a feeling of claustrophobia closing in on her. No wind had ever grazed this stone…no rustle of the grass…no animal…no ray of sun.

"We now have but one choice," Gandalf said, grimly. He knocked his staff on floor and now Tarlen could see her friends. She looked everyone over and gave a sigh of relief. No one was hurt.

"We must face the long dark of Moria," Gandalf continued. "Be on your guard. There are older, and fouler, things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

What do you think? Any advice? I'm loving writing about Tarlen…I keep learning new things every day! Please read and review!


	6. Into the Dark

As much as I wish I did**, I don't own any of Tolkien's works**, I only own Tarlen.

Xxx

"I have no memory of this place," Gandalf murmured as he looked down the three passages ahead of them.

Tarlen sat down heavily. Moria was beginning to take its toll on her. She wanted mountains and wind and grass. She wanted to walk in a forest or swim in a lake or race against…no. She hadn't done that since Sarlah had died. She wouldn't do it now.

She thought on the rest of her family: her mother and father, her brothers, Delrin and Belrin. Her brothers had gone off to help protect Gondor, leaving her parents to protect the village by themselves. _They won't last much longer,_ she thought. Thinking them ordinary gypsies, orcs had been raiding their sheep and cattle, killing anything or anyone in her way. What angered Tarlen most, though, was that they couldn't shift into their animals, to better protect themselves. They weren't allowed to. It was a rule installed by an ancient ancestor of hers, so ancient that even the elves couldn't remember him; a rule that on pain of death would you break it. You see, when a shape shifter is killed in their animal form, they shift back into their human form as death takes them.

Tarlen growled quietly. Because of that rule, her father was now crippled for life, barely able to walk, let alone defend a whole clan of people. If this war didn't end soon, the last of her race would die, and that would be the end of the shape shifters.

Tarlen shook her head. She could feel a stomach ache coming on and a dark place wasn't a time for dark thoughts and so, lying down, she let herself fall asleep on the hard, stone floor.

Xxx

"Tarlen, w-wake up," someone shook the young woman. "Oh, Tarlen, please wake up!"

"What?" Tarlen said irritably. She opened her eyes to see Gimli, who had been shaking her, standing over her, along with the rest of the fellowship, except for Gandalf and Merry. Everyone stood there, wide-eyed.

"Your bleeding, Tarlen," Aragorn said, urgently.

"What!" She sat up, wide awake. She couldn't feel any pain.

Gimli blushed, despite the seriousness of the situation. "In-in between your, ah, legs."

Tarlen glanced down.

"I've got some rags to staunch the blood!" Merry called, running to join the others. He awkwardly gave the rags to Tarlen and directed her hand to where the blood came from.

"Good," Aragorn said. "Now get me a needle and string so I can sew up the wound. Tarlen, can you remember when and on what you cut yourself?"

For a moment, Tarlen was speechless, staring at each of the gathered fellowship in turn in abject horror.

"She's gone into a state of shock," Boromir said. "Pippin, get the poor girl some water."

"'Ere, miss," Sam said, coming from behind her. "I got you my pack to sit on. To make you a wee bit more comf'table."

Tarlen couldn't hold it in anymore. She burst out in laughter, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"She must have lost more blood than I thought," Aragorn muttered grimly. "Merry, hurry up with my needle!"

Tarlen paused long enough to say, "No! No, you definitely _don't_ want to do that," before she cracked up with laughter again.

"Be quiet, all of you!" She distantly heard Gandalf call.

Aragorn frowned. Why wasn't Gandalf at all worried? "Why don't I want to do that, Tarlen? You could bleed to death!"

The rest of the fellowship began to murmur their agreement when Legolas said, "Oh, I think I know what it is." A small smile curved his perfectly sculpted lips.

There were echoes of "what?" from all the fellowship, but Tarlen spoke up before he could answer. "Don't you fools ever wonder why, once a month, without fail, a woman becomes 'indisposed' for a few days?" When they shook their heads, Tarlen couldn't help but look at them in disbelief. "Have you ever even noticed that happens?"

Aragorn and Frodo nodded their heads, whilst the rest of the fellowship just stayed silent. Tarlen chuckled. "You _blind_ fools! That's when they have their woman's bleed." She gestured to the lower half of her body, "This is _my_ woman's bleed!"

Everyone, except Legolas, who was chuckling quietly, scrambled away from her, turning white, then an interesting shade of pink.

"By the beard!" Gimli exclaimed. "It's her woman's bleed. T-Tar-Tarlen, I m-most sincerely a-apologise for our in-indecent behaviour."

He was the only one who dared to speak. The others just stared at her in wide-eyed astonishment, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Tarlen smirked and Legolas just walked away whistling a happy tune. Turning around, she ignored them as she took an unopened bottle from her pack and took a sip, before returning it to where it came from.

"What's that?" Aragorn asked tentatively, indicating the bottle, the healer side of him taking over.

"A brew my people discovered." Tarlen paused for a moment, and then continued in an ominous voice, "It stops the bleed."

Aragorn turned green at that, and quickly walked away. Checking no one was looking; Tarlen quickly changed into a clean pair of breeches and packed her soiled ones in her pack. They could be used for a fire at some point.

"Oh!" Tarlen jumped at Gandalf's sudden exclamation. "It's that way."

"He's remembered," Merry said, relieved.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here," Gandalf patted Merry's shoulder. "If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

They continued on, and Tarlen sidled up next to Gandalf. "You knew the whole time what was going on, didn't you, old man?" She said, referring to the 'woman's bleed incident'.

Gandalf just smiled slyly, and continued on.

"Oh, you old weasel," Tarlen chastised mockingly. "No secret's safe from you, is it?"

Xxx

They came to the bottom of the stair, and immediately Tarlen could feel the cooler air of a much, much larger room.

"Let me risk a little more light," Gandalf said, and the orb on his staff began to glow more brightly.

Tarlen gasped. Great pillars proudly held up a ceiling that Tarlen couldn't even see and went on for miles in each direction. Miles and miles of splendour carved stone.

"Behold," Gandalf said. "The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."

"Now there's an eye opener and no mistake," Sam declared.

"It is grander than I imagined," Tarlen murmured.

"Haugh!" Tarlen spun around to see Gimli running frantically towards a chamber littered with Dwarf and Goblin skeletons, weapons and armour. A single shaft of light shone onto a smooth crypt, illuminating it.

"No. No. No!" Gimli sobbed.

Gandalf walked up to the crypt and studied it intently. "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria. He is dead then. It is as I feared."

Boromir had his hand on Gimli's shoulder, and Tarlen followed suit and put hers on the other. "He must have been the best of Dwarves," she said gently.

Gimli began chanting a prayer in Dwarvish and Tarlen heard Legolas whisper to Aragorn, "We must move on, we cannot linger!"

"They have taken the bridge…and the second hall," Gandalf read from a book he picked up. "We have barred the gates…but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums…drums in the deep."

Tarlen glanced around. The stink of Goblins, Orcs and Uruk-hai had followed her on the whole journey, but the smell was so thick, she couldn't tell one path from another. If there had been so many—where were they now?

"We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark."

Tarlen glanced around. Was that foul smell stronger?

"We cannot get out…" Gandalf glanced up, uneasily. "They are coming."

A resounding crash made Tarlen spin around in fright.

Pippin was looking guilty. The head of a skeleton had fallen into as well, and before she could stop it, the rest of it followed. Then the bucket fell in too. Tarlen lunged for it, but her hands missed it by inches.

She could hear them crashing into various objects in a very long fall.

_Crash._

_Bang._

_Smash._

Silence. Tarlen relaxed, and Boromir exhaled.

Gandalf slammed the book shut. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" He pulled his hat and staff from the hobbit's hands.

_Boom…Boom._ Tarlen stared at the well.

_Boom…Boom-boom…Boom-boom-boom._

The beat continued, picking up in speed.

"Frodo!" Sam cried. Frodo drew his sword and it glowed blue.

"Orcs!" Legolas shouted. Tarlen grinned. Her heart quickened in anticipation and her eyes glowed a feral gold. She brought a picture of the wolf to her mind's eye. It came to her.

_Now?_ It asked excitedly.

_Now,_ she confirmed. Then she howled.

The bones in her feet cracked as bones realigned themselves and fur grew over her skin. Then her knees cracked and she collapsed onto all fours. Power and energy soured through her body as all the bones in her body cracked, grew and shortened. Muscles grew stronger and claws erupted from her fingers. Finally, her face contorted and grew into a muzzle, her eyes changed shape, and her teeth sharpened. Finally, black as midnight fur grew over her face, and if possible, she grinned even wider, baring her teeth into something that looked more like a snarl than a grin. She was as big as a horse and as heavy as one too. The wolf was back.

Though all this happened in a matter of seconds, Tarlen didn't have time to rejoice in being in her wolf form again as arrows hissed through the door, barely missing Boromir who looked out, his face white with the sight of a wolf in their party.

Aragorn dropped his torch to help Boromir, shouting to the hobbits, "Get back! You stay close to Gandalf!"

Something bellowed outside. "They have a cave troll," Boromir said sarcastically

Tarlen leapt forward and threw her weight against the door. Aragorn and Boromir just stared at her. "Blockade the door, you fools! Hurry! I can hold it, but not for much longer," Tarlen barked in a gravelly, if somewhat feminine, voice.

They jumped into action. They quickly barricaded the doors, with Legolas tossing them weapons. The fellowship gathered together, drawing weapons. Tarlen flexed her claws, letting them grow and sharpen. She wagged her tail. She was ready for a kill.

Gimli leapt upon Barlin's tomb beside he, brandishing his axe. "Aaargh! Let them come. There is one Dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath."

Something pounded on the door and crude axes and swords hacked a hole in the door. Legolas and Aragorn shot at the Goblins, and with each arrow that left its bow there came a squeal of pain.

Then the doors crashed open and Goblins streamed through the door. Tarlen let out a final howl and leapt into the fray. She landed heavily on a Goblin, near crushing it within her weight and she broke its neck with her teeth. She ducked and snapped at a pair of legs, then spun in an arc, sending dozens of Goblins that had crowded around her flying through the air, and slashed at the nearest creature with her claws. Blood stained her fur and for a moment she couldn't see. Goblins took their chance, jumping on her back and sliding beneath her body, hacking at the sensitive part of her belly. She howled in pain. Rolling, she crushed her attackers, and took the chance to wipe at her eyes.

She glanced up to see a cave troll crash through the doorway, led in chains by two other orcs. Suddenly, a piercing pain entered her mind, centred upon her right side. Tarlen yelped and glanced to her side. A spear was being pushed in by a jeering Goblin, and she lunged at him snarling. Then something swung around her throat, constricting her, making her fall backwards. Another Goblin held a chain around her neck, suffocating her, and it chuckled in glee. Tarlen snarled in fury. Using her upper body, she propelled her back legs upwards, kicking her attacker in the face and loosening her chains, but it held on, and she couldn't get free.

"Why won't you just die?" The one holding her chains asked.

"Death," Tarlen growled, "is not on my agenda." Then she spun around and snapped his neck, kicking herself free of the chains and quickly killed the other Goblin. She spun around in time to see Frodo being pierced by the Cave Troll's spear. She froze in shock. _Frodo!_ Her mind screamed. _The ring bearer is dead…_She was rooted to the spot.

_Take the ring,_ a voice, as if coming from outside, said in her head. _Master it, and save your people._

_No! That will never save my people._

Fury overtook her. How dare the troll kill her friends! She leapt forward, barely missing Merry and Pippin as she landed on the Cave Troll's back. She clawed, bit and scratched, taking deep chunks out of the Trolls leathery skin. Suddenly it threw her and Merry forward, and she spun round, so she cradled him in her bloody, but safe, stomach, taking the force of the landing for the both of them.

For a moment Tarlen couldn't move, and she was terrified that all her bones were broken. Then it seemed life returned to them again, and when she staggered up, Legolas shot an arrow into the Cave Troll's mouth. It moaned, stumbling forward, staring blankly at the wall, before it finally fell, face first on the floor, sending Pippin flying.

There was a moment of silence, all the orcs having fled or been killed, then Aragorn and Gandalf rushed over to Frodo, followed more slowly by Sam. Tarlen staggered towards him and nudged him, whining slightly.

"Oh no!" Aragorn whispered. He rolled Frodo over, who coughed and groaned.

"He's alive!" Sam said in amazement.

Tarlen barked happily and licked him, smearing Goblin blood all over his face.

"I'm all right, I'm not hurt," Frodo assured, wiping his hand across his cheek. "Urgh, lovely Taren. Thanks."

"You're welcome!" She grinned, tail wagging.

"You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar," Aragorn said in awe.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Frodo unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

Gimli gasped. "Mithril! You are full of surprises Master Baggins."

Cries and cackles became louder as more goblins approached.

"To the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm!" Gandalf declared.

Tarlen ran next to Gandalf, slowing her speed so it matched his. Her wounds were already healing and she bounded forward with a new spring in each step. They ran back into the huge hallway again.

Orcs and Goblins crawled out of crevices in the walls, ceiling and floor, scaling them with ease. Tarlen almost whined in despair. The foul creatures were faster than them, and it wasn't long until the fellowship was surrounded.

An nearby Orc edged closer to her, a terrible smile twisting its features. Tarlen snarled and snapped at him, withdrawing before another Orc or Goblin could chop her head off, and the Orc she had snapped at scampered away. Other Orcs snarled and leered.

Just then, a fiery light filtered through at one end of the hallway, followed by a thunderous rumble. The Orcs and Goblins glanced about, panicked and dismayed, and then scattered, running in different directions and disappearing back into their hidden crevices.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked.

For a moment, Gandalf didn't answer, and when he did, his voice was grim and solemn. "A balrog—a demon of the ancient world."

The light grew, pulsing and strong, slowly edging towards them.

"This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

The fellowship ran through the pillars, following Gandalf.

"A Balrog?" Tarlen asked, dismayed, finding the pace slow and easy to manage. "I thought they were meant to be dead!"

Gandalf ignored her. "Quickly!"

They entered through a passageway and ran down a flight of stairs, which ended in a missing segment. Tarlen barely managed to scramble to a halt, and if it hadn't been for Legolas, Boromir would have fallen in, too. Gandalf brought up the rear.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn worried.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!" Gandalf shouted. Aragorn made to step towards him, but Gandalf roughly pushed him away. "Do as I say! Swords are no more use here."

The Balrog roared again, and Tarlen laid her ears flat against her head. The sound was ugly to her sensitive wolf hearing. She bounded after Aragorn, running down the stairs. There was a gap in them, and she leapt across with ease, followed closely by Legolas.

Tarlen heard another roar and the ground rumbled. Rocks fell from their high perches, colliding with each other.

"Gandalf," Legolas beckoned.

Gandalf jumped across, followed by Merry and Pippin, carried by Boromir. Arrows whistled by them, sent by Orcs on ledges at the edge of the clearing. Legolas whipped out his bow, killing a few. Next came Sam, thrown by Aragorn. Aragorn reached for Gimli, but he held his hand up stating, "No one tosses a Dwarf!"

He leapt forward. He landed on the other side but slipped backward. Legolas caught him. "Not the beard!" The Dwarf cried, then he was safe. Tarlen let out a sigh of relief. She didn't know what she'd do without that dear Dwarf.

On the other side, the stone steps crumbles of the edge, and Aragorn and Frodo barely managed to save themselves. As they got up, a rock fell and crashed into the pillar holding their segment of bridge up. Aragorn shouted a few things to Frodo, and leaning forward, they finally made it across.

Onward they went, and it wasn't long until the bridge was in sight. "Over the bridge," Gandalf commanded. "Fly!"

Tarlen ran. She could feel a faint breeze coming through a nearby exit, and she howled with excitement. Daylight was near at hand! She could run and feel the grass beneath her paws again.

Halfway across the bridge, she yelped in pain. She fell sideways, skidding until only her claws, scraping against the stone, kept her on the bridge. Her shoulders ripped in agony with the effort of staying on the bridge, and she couldn't feel her left hind leg. She tried to use her back legs to push herself upwards, but another wave of pain came, making her slide further downward.

"Tarlen!" Someone called. A pair of hands gripped her furry elbows, heaving her up and onto the bridge. Glancing up, she saw Boromir gesture to her. "Hurry!"

Tarlen limped as fast as she could, but paused at the end of the bridge when she heard Gandalf command, "You shall not pass!"

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried from beside her.

"The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!

A huge great beast of fire, with wings that spread far outward, roared its benevolence. A sword of fired formed in its hand as it swung it back. Bring the sword down, it clashed with Gandalf's blade, shattering the Balrog's sword.

"Go back to the shadow!"

A thread of flame issued out of the Balrog mouth and it stepped forward, brandishing a whip of fire. Gandalf raised his sword and staff. "YOU…SHALL…NOT…PASS!" Then he drove his staff into the ground with a resounding rumble.

The Balrog stepped onto the bridge, flaring its nostrils challengingly. The bridge collapsed, and with a mighty roar of fury, it was sent it into the Pit of Khazad-Dùm.

Gandalf watched it fall for a few seconds, before turning to follow the rest of the fellowship. Suddenly the Balrog's whip snaked around his ankle, pulling Gandalf off balance and dragging him over the edge.

Frodo lunged forward, but Boromir restrained him.

"No, no!" Boromir cried.

"Gandalf!" Frodo shouted. Gandalf stopped struggling to get up. He looked Frodo in the eyes and said, "Fly, you fools!"

Then, with a hiss, he let go of the edge, falling into the chasm. Gandalf the Grey was no more.

What did you think? The woman's bleed thing is meant to lighten the mood a bit, otherwise I think it'll get a bit, 'It's the world's doom, end of all life' sort of thing! Please tell me what you think!


	7. Go

Still in her wolf form, Tarlen let out a howl of anguish. Gandalf was gone. Her beloved friend was gone. She stared around at the Goblins and Orcs still shooting at them, daring for them to shoot her again._ They will pay, _she thought. _The fury of the shifters will be theirs forever._

Someone grabbed the scruff of her neck, hauling her backwards. She glared at Aragorn, golden eyes blazing.

"Hurry, Tarlen. Orcs will follow us." He gulped, "you will have a chance for vengeance later."

She nodded her agreement and limped away, still not able to use her leg, and came into the blinding daylight. Blinking, she looked around to see clear grassland for a few miles and woodland in the distance. The sky was grey, as if it, too, was mourning Gandalf's passing.

The sight of everyone grieving broke Tarlen's heart. How could the fellowship survive without Gandalf? He had been their leader, their friend, their counsellor, and so much more.

Aragorn wiped his sword clean and re-sheathed it, turning to the others. "Legolas, get them up."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake," Boromir pleaded.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Tarlen, get them up."

"Aragorn, can you…I need help." Tarlen indicated her leg when he turned to her. It burned with pain, and every movement made her wince. "Can you pull the arrow out?" Why was the damn thing hurting so much?

Aragorn bent slightly to look. The arrow was embedded in her thigh, and a sickly yellow substance was beginning to form around it.

"The arrow has been poisoned," he said grimly. "You're lucky it didn't pierce any muscle." He gently prodded the wound and blindly, Tarlen snapped at him, barely missing his hand.

"Sorry, sorry sorry! That was the wolf reacting, not me," Tarlen said.

Aragorn nodded. "Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, hold her down. She can't shift with this thing in her."

When they were all in position, Aragorn gently pulled at the arrow, wiggling, pushing and prodding. Tarlen whimpered, but did her best not to bite or scratch any of the others.

"I'm sorry, lass," Gimli muttered in her ear, holding her maw shut tight. He could barely reach and, if they had been in any other situation, she might have found it amusing. Legolas held down her forelegs, whilst Boromir held down her hind ones. Gimli stroked her head reassuringly, as did the others, trying to soothe the great beast.

"There," Aragorn said at last. "Well done, Tarlen. Now, let's go to treating this wound."

"No, don't worry," Tarlen protested, as the others moved away. "My body will flush out the poison and heal the wound by itself. We must move on."

Xxx

They had only been running for an hour, but Tarlen was already beginning to lag behind. It was evident her wound wasn't going to heal quickly. She was forced to swing it back and forth as she ran, to give her momentum, but every time it moved a new wave of agony rolled over her, feeding on her energy. She was behind even the Hobbits now, and her body ached from having to use different muscles.

"Sam!" She rasped, who was just in front of her. Then she collapsed, her flanks heaving.

"Aragorn, Miss Tarlen needs help!" Sam called. That dear hobbit…

Tarlen couldn't go on, her body was screaming for rest, busy as it was trying to get the poison out of her system. The woods were still a few miles away.

"Tarlen?" Aragorn asked; worry etched in his face. Now all the fellowship was surrounding her. _Again,_ she thought with a hint of amusement.

"I'm exhausted, Aragorn. I'm sorry, but my body needs time to heal. Go to Lothlorien," he made to protest, but Tarlen talked over him, "and wait for me for seven days. If I am not there by the end of that time, then I am dead, and you must go on with the quest without me."

"The orcs will find you, Tarlen," Gimli said.

Boromir nodded, "and they will surely see you among the grass."

"The grass is long, and I can be more still than a deer when I wish to be," Tarlen argued. "I will not have any harm come to you because of me."

"But, Tarlen-" Legolas began.

"I will ask of you only two things. One," here, she chuckled, "please can I borrow someone's clothes? I've run out, having soiled one pair and ripped the other when I shifted. And two, leave me some food and water, if you have any to spare. I will need it to heal quickly."

Aragorn sighed. "There really is no stopping you, is there?"

Tarlen shook her head. "Wait a week, but I hope to be in Lorien in a couple days, in human form." She laughed, "Imagine there surprise to find a wolf as big as a horse shifting into a human!"

"But we can't leave you here!" Pippin protested. Frodo, Merry and Sam nodded emphatically.

"Yes, you can, little ones," Tarlen replied smiling indulgently. "I'll be back before you know it, and you will have to deal with my horrible eating habits and foul language again. You'll probably wish I was away again as soon as I come back!"

"No, never!" Sam vowed.

Tarlen smiled, then turned to Aragorn. "Now, go! You have only a few hours 'til nightfall. Wait for me."

No one moved. Tarlen snapped at them. "Go!"

Then they were off. Tarlen watched them leave for a few minutes, their bodies growing smaller and smaller, then she let her eyes drift close. She would get a few hours' sleep before the Orcs came out.

Xxx

Tarlen wolfed down the last of the food the others had left her in seconds, and still she was hungry. She harrumphed. Great, now all that was left to eat were grubs. Her nose snuffled the ground, searching for worms and bugs. Then her ears pricked up. The shouts and hollers of Orcs and Goblins could be heard.

This was the fourth patrol that had come by her. The first she had seen only in the distance, the second she could only hear, but the third had been the one that scared her. They had come when she was stealing a half hour nap, and had come within metres of her hiding place. She had hid herself well.

She had woken herself up just before nightfall, already feeling better, and had limped to a place where she could be downwind from the Orcs and Goblins, who she assumed would be following the others trail to the woods. Then, just to be sure, she had rolled in all the animal droppings she could find, careful not to muddy her still raw wound. It had not been the best of arrangements, and Tarlen was glad she had finally got used to the foul smell.

It was now the nightfall of the next day, and Tarlen could now move slowly for short distances, so she began to steadily make her way towards the woods, keeping an eye—and ear—out for enemies. Her progress was agonizingly slow, as Orc and Goblin patrols had obviously become a common thing in this country, and they were able to move where they wished, not worrying about being seen.

She was still in her wolf form, carrying the pack of clothes the rest of the fellowship had left her in her teeth. Her fur was matted, covered in blood and mud splattered. More than anything, Tarlen wanted a bath.

The fourth Orc and Goblin patrol she saw came and went, and she came out of her hiding spot, but then she heard voices.

"I told you, I saw somethin'," one voice gurgled. Tarlen lay flat on her belly and slowly crawled back into the bushes.

"There's nothing there, idiot," another replied. "And it stinks, so hurry up." _Yeah, like you can talk._ Two Orcs came into view, both armed to the teeth. Their skin was gnarled and black, their eyes small and beady, and their ears were pointed. _Poor elves, to have to share similarities with such filthy creatures,_ Tarlen thought

"Look! Over there," the first speaker of the two creatures broke her train of thought and, looking up, she almost gasped in dismay. Her pack! She must have dropped it when she had hidden again, so preoccupied with getting away from the Orcs.

The first Orc lumbered up to the pack, ripped it open and sniffed its contents. Then the Orc looked to the sky, sniffing the air, and began walking towards her.

"Hurry up, Grung!" The second Orc shouted as he looked out on the other side of the clearing, his back to Tarlen. Grung stepped closer. Tarlen tensed. Soon he would see her…

The bushes parted. Tarlen leapt. She pressed her paw on the Orc's armour, pushing it upward. The other paw she pressed over his nose and mouth, suffocating him. She waited with baited breath as the last tremors slowly died away.

"Grung?" The other Orc turned around, just in time for Tarlen to slit his throat with her claws. Then she caught him on her back, muffling his landing, all the time crawling on her belly, keeping her head beneath the grass. Warily, she glanced around.

The rest of their patrol was only a few metres away, lounging about, shouting, drinking and arguing, but she could see no leaders in sight. She looked back at Grung and his companion. Their armour seemed better, more efficient, and she doubted they would have been allowed back here on their own. Darn, she had killed the leaders! They would be expected back soon.

Quietly, she skirted around the patrol. Her leg burned with a new pain, and glancing back, she saw it had re-opened and was bleeding heavily. She increased her pace. It wouldn't be long until the patrol found their leaders dead and smelt her blood. She had to hurry!

She lengthened her stride, not bothering to hide in the grass anymore. Behind her, there were several exclamations and roars, but she ignored them, pushing herself to her limits. The woods were closer. Only a mile to go.

Her legs were burning, especially the one with the wound. She was forcing herself to use it, knowing it would only slow her down if she didn't.

Tarlen dearly hoped the Lady of the wood would let her take refuge, despite her state of disarray. That led her to think of her friends. What if the Lady hadn't let them stay? Where would Tarlen go?

A nearby shout made Tarlen jump out of her thoughts. The orcs were getting closer. Soon more would join them, and Tarlen would have a whole army chasing her.

The fringes of the wood were in sight, but the Orcs were closer. Tarlen's energy was failing. She gasped. Her throat constricted…she couldn't breath.

Suddenly an arrow whizzed past her ear, embedding itself in an Orc close behind her. More followed, and with each one, an Orc collapsed, disappearing beneath the long grass.

Finally she reached the edge of the wood, and she carried on blindly through for a few more metres before she dropped to the ground, unable to support herself anymore. She panted heavily, her tough lolling out. Then, stretching her leg out, she licked at her blazing wound, now raw again.

Tarlen felt a sharp point at her neck. She stiffened.

"Who are you to bring Orcs so close to the Lady's wood?" A smooth, velvety voice asked behind her.

Tarlen didn't reply, but ducked her head and turned to face the voice. Several elves clad in grey cloaks with a leaf clasping it together stood in a semi-circle about her. Their hair was blonde, long and flowing in a way that made Tarlen jealous. They all had knives sheathed at their waists, and they looked at her with eyes that told of long years of seeing much sadness and much joy. Years of practice with weapons…and all had their bows trained on her.

"More importantly, what are you?" The voice continued. The speaker was the only elf with his bow still strapped to him. "For you are no wolf of the wilds. The way you killed those Orcs was too cunning, and your eyes hold intelligence few animals can boast."

Tarlen regarded them thoughtfully, and spoke slowly, having not spoken for a while. "I am a wolf of the wilds of a different kind, Master Elf." She cocked her head to the side. "And who may you be?

All the elves looked vaguely surprised, if that is possible. Tarlen laughed, "Come now. Surely you didn't expect me to stay silent. At least, that is what I assumed…you don't usually talk to animals, expecting them not to talk back. For I am an animal, am I not? Or maybe I am something else—or maybe I am an animal _and_ something else. The choice is yours."

The elves quickly recovered, and the lead elf said, "Stop speaking in riddles. I am Haldir of Lorien. Who are you?"

"I am Tarlen Golden-eye. Mae…govannen. That is how you say 'greetings,' is it not?"

"What is your business here in the Golden Wood?" Haldir ignored her.

Growing serious, Tarlen said, "An Elf, a Dwarf, two Men and four Hobbits passed through these woods yester-eve. If you saw me killing those Orcs, then surely you saw them?"

Haldir gestured to his company and they put their bows away. "We have seen your friends. They brought great evil here and you have not done much better. They told us of you, though they left out the fact that you are a…wolf. I will take you to your friends, but do not try to pull any tricks on us. You would be dead before you could act upon the thought.

"Lovely." Tarlen slowly stood up and stretched, her cramped muscles groaning. "Please could I borrow some clothes? I need to change."

Haldir looked at her sceptically. Tarlen shook her head, "Don't' ask."

The other elves disappeared as well, except for two, assumedly to carry on their duties. Tarlen couldn't help but notice that they kept their hands close to their bows. Haldir regarded her thoughtfully.

"What are you?"

"You will not have heard of us, for my people have lived in secret for many millennia. You will find out soon."

An elf soon came down from a nearby tree and, looking up, Tarlen saw a flet: a simple platform. The elf handed her the clothes and she smiled, then glanced uncertainly at Haldir. "Is there anywhere I can change privately? I may seem just a wolf to you, but I do have my modesty to upkeep."

"I still don't see why you need clothes," he said, turning around. Tarlen quickly shifted, her bones cracking and her fur receding, leaving only her long black hair. Now naked, she shivered and quickly pulled on her clothes. They were far too big, and were baggy on her slim body, but they would do.

Then she walked up to Haldir, who was visibly surprised to see her in her human form. She sighed. "I will only explain once, when all will listen."

"Then let us go, and you shall meet the Lady of the Wood."


	8. Leave Taking

As much as I wish I did, **I do not own any of Tolkien's works**, I only own Tarlen.

Xxx

"Welcome, Tarlen Golden-eye of the _Ellahar_," the Lady Galadriel said. Tarlen couldn't stop staring at the woods surrounding her, or the beautiful people within it. Long ago she had become used to Legolas' elven beauty, but this was beauty was on another level. Fairer than all else around her though, was the Lady Galadriel herself. Her long, flowing hair was as golden as the sun, and her eyes the colour of ice. She had a great presence, one that stoke a small fear in Tarlen's heart, and the Lady's eyes held the weight of ones which have seen many ages past, and as Tarlen's mind began to sift through the Lady's words, she gasped.

"_Ellahar_ is the old elven name for my race. You knew of our people before the Disappearance," Tarlen whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and suspicion.

Lady Galadriel smiled sadly. "Yes, a time not even your people can remember well. Much was lost in that ill year, including the might of the _Ellahar_."

"Middle Earth did not lose the _Ellahar_, Lady Galadriel, we only let them forget," Tarlen said sternly. "My people are dying. Soon they will pass away into myth and legend—maybe not even that. But they will not leave this land to face Sauron without us. It has given us much fruit and joy. We owe the land this much, and we will not see people suffer unnecessarily."

Galadriel laughed. "You have a good heart. But you can leave the rest of the fellowship and seek safer lands for your people, let them grow in strength. Surely your people need not suffer the darkness that, even now, envelopes this land?" She watched Tarlen intently, never breaking eye contact as she spoke, seeking the _Ellahar's_ reaction.

Tarlen stood fast. "Nay. My people make their own decisions. I have made my decision. I will not waver in it."

The Elf lady nodded, as if Tarlen had passed a test. "I am glad to hear it. Middle Earth shall be in need of such skilful fighters."

Tarlen bowed at the Lady's praise. "Thank, my Lady, but I fear we are not as skilful or strong as we once were. My people are scattered, coming together now only for a seasonal meeting. We can only tell who are _Ellahar_ by our eyes, which glow when we shift, and by scent. My father is a leader only in name, now. We lead ourselves."

"Maybe, Tarlen, there will be another chance for your people."

"Aye, that is my greatest wish."

Suddenly, shouts could be heard coming up the stairs, and Merry and Pippin burst into the room. "Tarlen!" They cried, bowling her over in a hug. Next came in Sam, closely followed by Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Frodo, and finally, Aragorn. They laughed at the hobbits' antics as Frodo and Sam joined in.

When she managed to extricate herself from their embrace, she faced Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas.

Gimli didn't say anything; he just walked up to her and hugged her. No words were needed. Tears glistened in his eyes, but a huge smile was upon his face.

"Welcome back," Aragorn said simply as he hugged her.

Legolas also hugged her, and said, "Im gelir ceni ad lín, mellon nin." _I am happy to see you again, my friend._ Then he delicately wrinkled his nose and added, "Nostach be Orch gaer."

"Excuse me? Did you just say I smell like an Orc?" Tarlen demanded.

The corners of Legolas' mouth twitched. "No, mellon nin. I just said that you smell like _ten_ Orcs!" Then his face broke into a grin, and he gently chided, "Remember our lessons! I am disappointed you would miss such a _large_ number."

"Oh! You—you—" Tarlen stuttered, but she laughed and settled for slapping him on the arm. Then a cunning glint lighted her eyes. "Labo vi Orodruin!" _Go jump in Mount Doom!_

Legolas chuckled and stepped back, and finally Boromir came to stand before her. There was an awkward silence for a moment as found something particularly interesting on the ground. Then, giving her arm a squeeze, he met her gaze. "It's good to have you back."

She could feel her eyes misting over, and she pulled him into a hug. She pulled away as she murmured, "It's good to be back."

"May I suggest you at least go to the healers to have your wound cleaned? I remember well your people's extraordinary healing skills, but they always healed faster without dirt in the way."

Tarlen jumped. How had the Lady known of her wound? She had not told her. Galadriel smiled a secretive smile, as if she knew what was going on in Tarlen's mind—and for all she knew, the Lady probably did.

Tarlen bowed. "Thank you, my lady. You are most kind."

After seeing the healer's, she was led to her own flet, where she found a bath and Lorien clothing on her bed. Tarlen had inwardly sighed with relief when she saw they were a pair of breeches and shirt—she need not feel uncomfortable in some long frock that tripped her up all the time.

She soon found herself falling into what Tarlen thought must have been the most comfy bed in the world, and she soon felt her eyes drift close as she finally gave in to the sleepiness that had pursued her since she had arrived.

Xxx

Tarlen's first impression of Lorien was very different from what it was like for the rest of that week. Whilst the reunion with the fellowship had been very joyful, for they had been incredibly worried about her, they had also brought the sorrowful news of Gandalf's death to Lorien, and the elves were now singing their lament for their beloved wizard and friend. Tales were told of his great deeds, and rumours of his others that he kept secret. Nothing he had done was needless or rash—everything had been for the greater good, for the safety and happiness of others. He had been selfless, he had been wise, he had been powerful. His life was a loss for not only those who knew him, but for the whole of Middle Earth.

_Old man,_ Tarlen thought, chuckling humourlessly to herself. _That is what I used to call him, but in reality, he was as spritely as a youth. Oh, how I miss him…_

Their days in Lorien passed by slowly, but really it wasn't very long. She took the time to strengthen her muscles, her wound having healed, and she practiced her hand to hand combat with the rest of the fellowship and sometimes even one of the Lorien Elves. They were lithe and fast, but being an _Ellahar_ does have its advantages. Let's just say they were very well matched.

She also found herself drawn to Galadriel, like a moth to light, and asked her several questions about the _Ellahar's_ Golden Days, when they ran free and didn't hide. It was a time even her own people knew little about, and Tarlen looked forward to sharing such a wealth of information with her family and friends when she went home. Maybe…maybe, some day, she might be able to tell her people, together, united as they once were, as they should be. Maybe.

Sometimes, when the pain of losing Gandalf was too deep, Tarlen would shift into the wolf and just run through the forest and howl to the moon, her song entwining itself with those of the elves, but she was always careful to smell for Orcs. She found the others again by following her trail back to their flets, still unfamiliar with the forest around her.

They stayed a week in Lorien, and on their departure, they were given gifts of grey cloaks, clasped together by green leaves, to which the Lord Celeborn said, "Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people. May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

They were all given separate gifts also; for Legolas, a bow of the Galadhrim; for Merry and Pippin, daggers of the Noldorin; for Sam, Elvish rope; for Gimli, three strands of the Lady Galadriel's hair; and for Frodo, the light of Earendil. Aragorn received nothing, for he already had 'the greatest gift of all.'

When Galadriel came to Tarlen, she said, "When Sauron was able to take full form, he was known to take the shape of a wolf. There are werewolves also, and wargs, who are related to wolves. My gift to you, Tarlen Golden-eye, is a gift given to me from your own people, many years ago." She held up a silver medallion. On one side, the shape of a running wolf, depicted in fine detail, was etched into the surface, whilst on the other side, the shape of a leaf was etched similarly. "It was made by both Lorien and _Ellahar_ smiths, working together, to show our alliance for each other. They made two, one for the elves, and one for your ancestor, leader of the shifters, who shifted into a wolf. Now, with the elves returning to the undying lands, I give this to you, Tarlen Golden-eye, as rightful owner. May it give you courage, and ward away all sense of doubt."

Tarlen gingerly took the medallion from Galadriel's hand, turning it over and over. It had about two inches diameter and hung on a long, metal chain made of the finest silver rings. The pendant hung to just above her tummy, the chain long enough, so that it didn't break when she shifted, yet it was short enough so that it didn't get in the way when she was fighting.

"Thank you," Tarlen whispered in awe, then she paused. "But, milady, I am allergic to silver. All my people are. If it got into a wound, I would be killed.

Galadriel smiled her secretive little smile. "Maybe your weakness will become your strength."

Then she left a frowning Tarlen as she moved onto Frodo. "Farewell, Frodo Baggins. I give you the light of Earendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light for you in dark places, when all other lights go out."

It is now 29/07/2014 and I have FINALLY managed to update this chapter and sort out Boromir's character, which wanted to jumped OUT of character for a while (my deepest apologies!). All is fixed now (I hope!) and I look forward to continuing chapter 2 in the next of my LOTR fanfiction: 'The Wolf in Rohan'.


	9. Goodbye, my friend

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, **I do not own any of Tolkien's works**, I only own Tarlen.

As this is the last chapter of the first instalment of 'The Wolf' series, I just want to say a BIG thank you to: Element Life, Hopefeather, Flatlinedgamer, whisperedsilence, Literatka, arab57, L., Shades-Soul, sarabqh and Ukko for all your lovely reviews.

Xxx

The Lady Galadriel stood silently, waving the fellowship goodbye on the shores of Lothlorien. She was clothed in a cape as white as snow and upon her brow sat a golden circlet, shimmering in the dawning light. With one last gaze upon the Lady, Tarlen looked forward once more and they quietly waded out onto the River Anduin.

They sat in Lorien crafted boats, small and light, made for fast travel. In one sat Boromir, rowing the hobbits, Merry and Pippin. In the next was Aragorn, with Frodo and Sam, and in the last, Tarlen, Gimli and Legolas took turns with the rowing.

The fellowship was quiet, for sadness had overcome them. This was the last time they would ever see Lorien, fairest of all woods, for once the ring of power was destroyed, everything made with the other rings would diminish, and Galadriel would sail into the west.

Soon after they left, Gimli said, "I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest. Haugh, henceforth, I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

"What was it?" Legolas asked in between the strokes of the paddle in the water.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head." Gimli paused, and continued, "she gave me three."

Legolas smiled, and Tarlen, who was in front of Gimli, softly said, "Her memory will be remembered in myth and legend, in the memories of others, and in her gift you bear. Bear it with pride, Gimli, and tell her tale for others to love and admire her as well."

Time went by slowly. The river was smooth, and every now and then, Tarlen would trail her fingers into the water, causing ripples to fan outwards in her wake. She longed to jumped in and swim all the way until their next stop, but, on seeing her longing glance, Legolas said, "Don't you dare, Tarlen, or you'll smell like wet dog." He smiled an evil smile, "and I'll make you swim all the way."

Tarlen glared mockingly and leaned around Gimli for Legolas to see her better. He and Gimli just laughed. Suddenly the boat tipped, and they both braced themselves cautiously against the edge. This time it was Tarlen's turn to laugh.

The rest of the day passed by slowly. Orcs patrolled the eastern shore. Tarlen could smell them. At the camp that night, tension levels were high. Everyone could sense the near danger. Something was going to happen.

Aragorn and Boromir fought that night. Frodo wasn't eating or sleeping, Tarlen had noticed, much to Sam's worry. They had a talk too. Everything that night was driving home to Tarlen just how much this quest would change her: either she would go back to her people scarred by war…or dead.

She couldn't sleep that night; too worried that the Orcs would try to cross the river, foolish though that might be. She took the first watch, only finally reaching slumber when Aragorn took over the watch and gave her some relaxing herbs.

The next day was much the same as the first, but it was some time at midday that they saw two rising rocks. Huge they were, reaching up many, many metres high. As they got closer, Tarlen soon made out that they were statues of men—kingly men. Solemn and stern are their faces, but proud too, and both their left hands are raised, palm outwards, in warning. Two vast quarries line the cliffs on either side of them, from which they had been hewn. They were sending a message. _Warning. Gondor territory. Those who do not belong: beware._

Tarlen heard Aragorn up ahead, whispering in awe to Frodo, "Frodo, the Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old…my kin."

They passed the great statues, and their boat were no bigger than the statues' little toes. Tarlen sighed in amazement. Never had she seen such splendour, as that which she had seen on this quest. Never would she regret coming.

A while after that they pulled the boats up onto a shingle beach and, feeling exceedingly hungry from having rowed most of the way, she began to make camp, going so far as to heat some boiled water—for Sam to cook, of course. No one would _ever_ want to taste her cooking.

"We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the North," Aragorn said.

"Oh, yes?" Gimli exclaimed. "It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks. And after that, it gets even better!"

Pippin looked up from his pack, alarmed.

"Festering, stinking marshlands, far as the eye can see," Gimli continued.

"That is our road," Aragorn said firmly. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

Gimli's ruddy cheeks became even redder. "Recover my…? Phrrrr…"

"We should leave now," Legolas urgently said to Aragorn.

"No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind," Legolas said ominously. "A shadow draws near…I can feel it."

Tarlen looked with worry over at Aragorn and Legolas, having heard their whispered conversation with her wolf ears. She had had that feeling too. They could only be as prepared as possible for whatever was going to happen, and wait.

"No Dwarf need recover strength," Gimli ranted on. Then he leaned towards Pippin, "Never mind that, young hobbit."

Tarlen looked up as Merry came into the clearing, arms laden with more fire wood. "Where's Frodo?" He asked.

Tarlen glanced around, saw Sam wake with a start, the others look for the missing hobbit as well, but no Frodo…or Boromir. Suddenly her head whipped around, her nose raised high to scent the air.

"I smell fear," she muttered, before leaping in the direction she could smell it in. The others scattered, searching in different directions.

As she sprinted, she shifted to smell better. She didn't run long and, snuffling her nose along the ground, she found the remains of a scuffle, but with foliage littering the ground, she couldn't tell much from it. She managed to pick out Frodo's smell, still laced with fear, and she followed him up a hill. That was when she heard the fighting. And she smelled the Orcs.

She reached the top of the hill where sunlight pierced through the trees and a stone dais was raised in the centre, and as she saw the Orcs, fighting Aragorn at the top of the table, she wondered, _how are they braving the sunlight? And how are they so much bigger? _Then she howled, feeling the rush of anticipation. Battle was coming. Then she leapt into the fray.

The first Orc that came at her was huge. He swung his sword and she ducked and jumped to slash his neck. The next was trying to get up the stairs. With a swipe of her paw, she broke his neck. She heard the whistle of metal soaring through the air and twisted to the side. It clipped her fur. In fury she bit down on the offending arm, earning a roar of pain. Blood, foul and bitter, flooded her mouth. She shook her head and threw the Orc crashing into a tree, using his body weight for momentum.

Glancing up, Tarlen saw Aragorn leap off the dais, crashing down upon more Orcs. "Elendil!" He cried.

She covered his back as he staggered up, knifing an Orc in the process. Gimli and Legolas found them then, who quickly set to work on cutting down more of Sauron's creatures.

"Tarlen!" She glanced around. "Tarlen!" Aragorn. "Find Sam!"

Tarlen barked and sprinted into the woods, loath to leave the battle, but wanting to find her friend too. She lengthened her stride, trying to sniff the air at the same time. It was no use. The stench of battle and blood was thick and pungent. She had to run around, almost blind to her senses; blood matted her fur and trickled into her eyes and all she could hear was the crash of metal.

Suddenly she felt something, a familiar, dark power. It drew her forwards, whispering words of promise and fulfilment. The ring. Now in almost full power, the wolf inside Tarlen strained forward, longing to seek out the ring's power. Tarlen let it pull her forwards. It was her only way of finding Frodo, and with him, possibly Sam. It was growing closer.

Then she saw a hat of curly brown hair, running amidst the trees towards the beach.

"Frodo!" Tarlen called out, racing towards him. He stopped and watched her warily, backing away when she came too close. "Frodo?" Hurt was evident in her eyes.

"I have seen the way you look at the ring, Tarlen—it calls to you. I want to trust you, but do you trust yourself?" Frodo asked. He didn't pull out the ring, but Tarlen can see it clearly between the folds of his shirt. It whispered to her, saying her many names of the past, the present…and the future. It had spoken before to her of promised lands for her people, full of food and wealth, of how the strength of the _Ellahar_ would increase, of…

Distantly she heard the sound of a horn, but it didn't matter right now. All that mattered was the ring…

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she took it; after all, it was only a ring. A very beautiful ring; round and gold and smooth and altogether perfect. She would be a queen among _Ellaharan_ (*). Her people would thrive and others would fear them like they should. And soon, when the time was right, they would overrun the lands of pitiful men, and a new age shall be made. An age of shape-shifters, and men would be their slaves…

"Tarlen?" Frodo asked quietly in despair. Tarlen jumped, lashing out at him and snarling. _How dare he…What?_ Tarlen paused, her unsheathed claws inches from Frodo's face. He was cowering on the ground, hands outstretched in a sorry attempt at defence.

"Oh, Frodo, I am so sorry." Tarlen re-sheathed her claws, scrambling away in such a hurry that her rump bumped into the trunk of the tree. How could she…? _I almost killed him,_ Tarlen thought with deadly realization. She yelped at the very thought, and guilt ate away at her mind. She whispered, "I'm sorry."

Frodo warily stepped forward, eyeing her every movement. "Stay away from me!" Tarlen cried. "I don't want to hurt you."

A determined look set into his face, and Frodo shuffled forward again. "I know, Tarlen, I know." He settled his hand in her fur, stroking it soothingly. "I am going away. To Mordor. To destroy the ring alone. It will kill everyone in the end, otherwise," he said. "Aragorn knows. He will know what to do from here."

Tarlen nodded solemnly, when what he said sunk in. "To destroy the ring?" She thought of what had almost happened. "Frodo, promise me one thing: when you get to Mount Doom, drop the ring straight into the fire. Don't think about it! Or the ring will fight it. Think of my plight, Frodo, of what just happened. Let it spur you to the right course. Destroy the ring. Do you promise?"

Frodo stuttered slightly, either from Tarlen's intense gaze, or from a reluctance to agree. Tarlen placed a paw firmly on his shoulder, letting her claws scrape lightly, threateningly, against his skin. "Promise me!"

"I promise," Frodo whispered. Tarlen half-smiled and nuzzled his shoulder, gently pushing him in the right direction as she heard the battle growing closer.

"Thank you. Now go! And good luck!"

She watched Frodo go for a moment and was about to find the others, when all sounds of battle stopped. An eerie silence filled the wood, except for a few last scuffles of retreating Orcs and of her fellow comrades. She followed the sounds of the latter, until she came across Aragorn, leaning over someone.

As she approached, she saw a pair of legs and a horn, then a body, clad in a leather jerkin, leading up to a head with golden hair. _Boromir…_ Tarlen realized with dread. Aragorn was leaning over Boromir.

A spike of pain entered her hear, sharper and clearer than any war wound. Tarlen whined, crawling over to him to lay her body beside him. He would at least be warm as he died. As small a comfort as that was, Tarlen was reassured by it. She wanted him to have as contented a passing as possible. Another worthy fellowship member lost…

"Our people?" Boromir half-nodded, his movements slow and unsteady. "Our people."

Then he noticed Tarlen, and he slowly reached for her. She licked his hand, and he smiled, like a boy with a new puppy, before curling his fingers in the fur around her neck. He stayed like that for a moment, and Tarlen looked him in the eyes for the last time. They didn't say anything. Like with Gimli back at Lothlorien—oh, how long ago that seemed now—no words were needed.

_Goodbye, my friend._

Boromir nodded slightly, as if he had heard her thoughts, and turned back to Aragorn, leaving his hands in her fur, which were now loosely stroking it. He had accepted his fate.

"I would have followed you," Boromir rasped, "my Brother…my Captain…my King."

Then, like a sigh of the wind, his last breath left his lips. His eyes stilled, his stroking ended, and his heart stopped beating. Boromir, son of the Steward, was gone.

"Be at peace, son of Gondor," Aragorn whispered, and kissed Boromir's brow.

Footsteps approached, and Legolas and Gimli emerged from the trees. The stopped at the sight before them. Gimli bent his head in respect, and Legolas looked on sadly. _How many lives had he seen come and go in his lifetime…?_

Aragorn closed Boromir's eyes. It was strange how such a natural motion was so utterly impossible in death. Except for the black arrows protruding from his chest and the pallor of his cheeks, Boromir looked like he was asleep, and almost seemed child-like. The fallen warrior had begun his last adventure.

"They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return," Aragorn said. He raised his head, and Tarlen saw a single tear, glistening down his cheek.

They prepared Boromir for his send-off, pulling the arrows out of his chest and packing his weapons with him. Tarlen couldn't help but think of how she had first met Boromir. He had been brusque in their introduction, still puzzled as to why a woman was joining the fellowship. Then she thought of how, despite these thoughts, he had always been courteous before, or as courteous as a man like he can be in that situation. He had loved the hobbits, holding a small fascination for them that had brought him especially close to Merry and Pippin. He had played and laughed with them like they were his own brothers. Then she thought of his amazed face, staring at her as she shifted for the first time. That brought to mind his pleading look as he begged for forgiveness for ignoring her.

Tarlen tried not to think of the moments when darkness had taken one slinking step closer to him, of him looking in awe at the ring on the table at Rivendell, of when he had come close to taking the ring from Frodo at the Misty Mountains, of when…_no._ No. Tarlen would not think of those times. He deserved to be remembered for who he was, the great and noble warrior, not what the ring wanted him to be.

Tarlen watched as his body tumbled off the waterfall, having placed him in a boat and sent him down the river. She was torn from her thoughts when she heard a crunching of gravel.

"Hurry!" Legolas cried, shoving the boat into the water. "Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore." He paused when he saw that neither Aragorn nor Tarlen joined him. "You mean not to follow them?"

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," Aragorn stated simply."

"Then it has all been in vain! The fellowship has failed," Gimli despaired, slumping. Aragorn stepped forward, putting his hands on Gimli and Legolas' shoulders, who in turn, both rested a hand in Tarlen's fur.

"Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." Here, Tarlen nodded emphatically. They had told her of what happened on their way to the shore. She couldn't help Frodo and Sam, but she could help Merry and Pippin. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let us hunt some Orc!"

Legolas, Tarlen and Gimli looked at each other, grinning. "Yes! Haha!" Gimli exclaimed. They gathered their things. Tarlen looked around.

_I could leave everything. I hope wherever we're going has some decent daggers…and maybe some decent clothes would be handy too._

Aragorn took off, closely followed by Taren, Legolas and Gimli. Well, Tarlen wouldn't be shifting anytime soon!

Xxx

Woop, woop! Finally, the last chapter is finished. I am so sorry this took so long…I had a few days off! I hope you enjoyed this last chapter. Please look out for the next in 'The Wolf' series: 'The Wolf in Rohan.'

Follow Tarlen as she deals with people who suspect and fear her, for she does bear an uncanny resemblance to someone…

I'm sorry for any Eomer fans that she has not seen him yet…I suppose that is to be expected though. But fear not! For we will be meeting Eomer in the next story (of course!), just look out for "The Wolf in Rohan'—it should be out by tomorrow night (English time).

PLEASE tell me what you think!


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